"Gotta go," she said to Teresa. "My special guests are starting to line up."
"Brr," Teresa responded, pretending to shiver as she hugged her arms.
Leo tipped his Stetson to Teresa, but Zoe was the only living being who saw.
Zoe gave her readings in the front room of the gallery. The furnishings were as homey as she could make them—secondhand chairs and sofas, with nicked tables set between. A beautiful Navaho rug hung on one wall, her biggest decorating splurge. The light from the wide front window filled the space with gold, glinting pleasantly off her assortment of crystals and stones.
The fairies had insisted she buy them to "cleanse the atmosphere." They were her only mystical bric-a-brac. Most of her clients felt more comfortable without too much woo-woo stuff, though tourists sometimes asked why she didn't use tarot cards. Zoe knew such touchstones worked for others, but she'd never wanted to be dependent on objects. She needed nothing to jump-start her gift except an open heart and a focused mind.
Even that seemed unnecessary with a contact as clear-spoken as Leo Darling. As usual, Ada Darling's weekly appointment went smoothly. She liked to share her news with her disincarnate spouse and get his advice on the decisions of daily life. Her husband was always patient with her concerns, letting her know which handymen she could trust, reminding her she didn't need his permission for anything.
Mrs. Darling never seemed to doubt the authenticity of these interactions, but she also never seemed to realize they might inspire deeper thoughts. The soul survived death, and the dead still loved those they left behind. That was Big, as far as Zoe was concerned; that was a message she suspected she'd never tire of delivering. Although Mrs. Darling was a sweet old lady, sometimes Zoe wanted to shake her out of her mundane world.
Heaven loves you, she longed to say. What does it matter if your best friend cheats at bingo?
When her hour was up, Mrs. Darling counted out her payment in cash like she always did. Her old, arthritic hands made each bill seem as heavy as a volume of War and Peace. Every time Zoe watched her do it, she had to bite her tongue against telling her to keep her money. Zoe performed a service, and she performed it well. This was her sole source of income. Even more important, if she didn't charge Ada Darling, Zoe suspected the woman would come in ten times a day.
Mrs. Darling sighed with satisfaction once the painstaking ritual was complete. "Thank you, dear," she said, handing over the fee. "You've put this aching old heart to rest."
Zoe smiled in spite of her impatience. "That's why I'm here."
Mrs. Darling nodded, her usual reluctance to leave showing itself. She really didn't like facing her life without "dear old Leo" to hold her hand.
"You'll be fine," Zoe said, reaching out to squeeze her plump but fragile arm. "Leo watches over you all the time, not just when you talk to him here."
"But you're the one who makes me feel him," said Mrs. Darling. Her faded blue eyes teared up, though she waved off the tissue Zoe offered her. "You're a good girl, Zoe. I hope you find a man like Leo yourself someday."
"So do I," Zoe admitted, and then had to clear her throat.
Without warning, Mrs. Darling cackled out a laugh. "Ask those fairies of yours to fix you up. Then you'll be set!"
"You hear that?" Zoe said to the apparently empty air above her head.
No piping voices answered, even after Mrs. Darling left. A prickle at the back of Zoe's neck told her why. Magnus was standing in the door behind her, the one that led to her office.
From their first meeting, Magnus had struck her as more man than most. He was tall, for one thing, at least six five—though you didn't notice how big the various parts of him were until you stood up close. With half a room between them, he simply looked in proportion. At five foot six Zoe was no pygmy, but she wasn't fooled. Toe-to-toe, Magnus could make an Amazon feel delicate. His looks were as dramatic as his size. He had dark, beautiful hair—not long but a little shaggy—smooth, high-colored skin, full kissable lips, and eyes as green and clear as a mountain stream. If he hadn't exuded masculinity, he'd have been pretty. Instead, he came off as unbelievably sexy. Zoe had known him two years, and she still had to swallow at the sight of him.
No matter how cool she wanted to act, he was hard to look away from.
Now his face held something uncertain, something she hadn't expected to see on this of all days. She wondered how much he'd heard of her conversation with Mrs. Darling. She could only hope not a lot. Zoe might be psychic, but she wasn't a mind reader. The images she caught from people now and then weren't conscious thoughts. They came, she was almost certain, from the part of them that shared the same nonphysical territory as the deceased: the high, wise angel of their better selves.
As far as she could tell, Magnus's high, wise angel didn't have a peep to say to her.
"Your hair looks nice," he said, waving one hand in her direction. "Shiny."
Zoe couldn't help touching it self-consciously. Left to itself, her hair had a tendency to devolve into a long black snarl. "I had help this morning."
He nodded without his usual trademark smile. Like most of the locals, Magnus knew about her fairies. He also knew, because she hadn't figured out how to keep it from him, that they avoided him like the plague. She had only to think hard about Magnus, and they'd disappear into whatever dimension fairies hung out in when they weren't in hers. Zoe had no idea why they did this—unless they simply didn't like his effect on her moods.
In all her life, only one other man had provoked a similar reaction from her "little friends"… but that was a ghost Zoe preferred not to resurrect.
"I don't suppose they're still around," he said with an uncustomary tinge of wistiulness. His Western-style shirt hugged his chest just right, and his big, tanned hands were thrust into his front jean pockets. The faded patches in the denim, where his c**k and balls habitually rubbed, pointed out how very well hung he was. Sadly, none of these things were encouraging Zoe's eyes to stay where she wanted them.
"I think the fairies are outside playing," she said. She shifted from foot to foot, caught off balance by his strange mood. "I didn't expect to see you here this late."
Magnus owned a number of properties in Fairyville, where he also acted in a managerial capacity. From the day he'd invited Zoe to set up shop here, she was always his first stop, though half an hour was generally as long as he stayed.
He didn't respond right away, and she was soon sorry she'd forced her gaze to his face. He was looking at her steadily, as if whatever he was thinking was serious. She would have given her right arm to have him look at her like that in bed. Unable to stop the reaction, Zoe felt a bead of sweat trickle down the small of her back. If he'd figured out she had a yen for him, she was going to die.